She sat beneath the glow of a lonely streetlamp, <br />Her eyes full of fear, hair matted and damp. <br />She glanced around and saw me, instantly bolting. <br />Her clothes flew around her. ('She's like a bird molting.') <br />She fled down the street until she reached the next light, <br />Then sat down again, body rigid and tight. <br />I watched her closely, intrigued by this girl. <br />Watching her take out a paper and unfurl <br />It. (What in the world is she doing out alone? <br />Shouldn't this young girl be at her home?) <br />Creeping up closer, trying not to scare her; <br />Staring down in her lap at the old yellow paper. <br />Here was the girl, her face strong and young; <br />Here was her baby, sticking out its tongue. <br />The girl stared in raptures at the picture, <br />Like a devout Christian studying a scripture. <br />Slowly the girl started crying, burying her face <br />In her dirty coat, so out of place <br />In this industrial garden, concrete oasis. <br />Here among corporate pawns with tight, drawn faces. <br />Her tears mingled with the dust upon her clothing. <br />Had a businessman seen her, he'd have looked on with loathing. <br />A young girl in the street, her heart filled with strife <br />For her tiny little infant who had lost its short life.<br /><br />Elizabeth Sheaffer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bitter-anguish-of-a-mother-teardrops-in-the-dusty-street/
